


High tide, low tide

by MorteMistrata



Series: Lions everywhere [10]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, F/F, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Lesbian Allura (Voltron)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-13
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-06-26 21:30:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,840
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15671667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MorteMistrata/pseuds/MorteMistrata
Summary: Allura has it all. She's captain of the soccer team, President of Student council, and has the best girlfriend anyone could ever want. And then she gets hurt. She gets hurt badly, and may never recover. At first, it seems hopeless, but with her girlfriend, Pidge, at her side, and her friends there to help her, she manages to get used to her new reality, and realizes that even the impossible is possible if you set your mind to it.





	1. The accident

Allura knows that something is wrong. She doesn’t suspect it. She  _ knows  _ it. It’s a faint feeling, and yet impossible to ignore, like the faint twinge of food a few days stale, not quite rotten, but not good either. She knows that she could ignore it; she’s ignored sprained ankles, and bruised ribs and migraines that try to split her head open; but she doesn’t want to. She can’t feel anything, can’t concentrate on anything, but she can feel that something is wrong, so she focuses inwards, on that wrong feeling, and tries to place where she felt it last. 

 

Allura gets it occasionally on small things, faint premonitions of things like upcoming pop-quizzes, or when a soccer field will be too muddy to play on safely. Those things were ghosts of this feeling; smells that linger long after the food has been thrown out. No, she means to remember the big one. 

 

The last big wrong feeling happened a long time ago; if she hadn’t revisited it so often, she might not be able to remember it at all. 

 

It happened when she was eight, and her mother had left in the middle of dinner, plate untouched, she had known that something was wrong. Divorce and infidelity had been unquantifiable to her then; Children know of anger but not Her sources, but even then, she had felt that something was different about how her mother had pushed her chair back, all of her weight pressing down against it so that it scratched and screeched against the hardwood floors; something was different about the way that her bare feet pressed against the floor and held her high, as if challenging the house that contained her to fight back; something was wrong about how she’d walked into the driveway, sat in the car Allura’s grandfather had given to her mother on her wedding day, the car that she never drove, because being married to Alfor meant greater things, and drove away carefully, so as not to run into the yard as she eased it into the driveway, not once looking back. Not once coming back.

 

That feeling and what led to it had only been recognizable in hindsight, but Allura is older now, and she believes that she can figure this out now, as it occurs. She concentrates and tries to think about what happened before this, before this place of limbo and waiting.

  
  
  


There had been people, lots of people. And sun, that too. Oh, and she can remember the smell of salt and brine, and sunscreen. So she was on the beach. That’s a start. And so it comes to Allura in waves, in violent sets of three.

 

 

  * __There is salt on her tongue. Not salt like from the kitchen table, or the thick chunks layered on the buttery surface of a pretzel. Salt, like it’s oozing from her taste buds, coming from her salivary glands and dripping down her throat. She swallows, and it scrapes against the inside of her throat, claws it’s way down into her stomach- except her throat hurts so much, she hardly even notices anything after. Did she swallow some seawater on her way in the water? She must’ve tripped over something. She hasn’t been knocked over by a wave in years. Yes, she must’ve tripped over something. Allura tries to stand, but she doesn’t. She can though. Of course she can. The ocean is powerful, and stubborn, but Allura is more stubborn. She has trained through pain and injury, has won and healed and moved on. If she wants to move, she’ll move dammit-__



 

 

_ And still she doesn’t.  _

 

_ Allura tries to open her eyes, and sees nothing but sand and water and wave around her. She wants to- and yet she doesn’t. _

 

 

  * __There is sand running across her skin like the fingers of rough, calloused hands. Like Pidge’s fingers, thick and scarred with wounds from cutting wires, and burns from mishandled solder, intertwined with Allura’s. Like her father’s brushing her hair behind her ear, clasping a necklace around her neck. The sand rushes past her face, and into her hair; sandpaper against skin, digging up her cells, revealing her muscle and sinew to- to what? To the water, or to more sand? Why is she still underwater? Why hasn’t she stood up?__



 

 

 

  * __Allura hears a familiar voice shrieking over the boom and crash of the wave. Her mind is in a state of panic- and yet also a state of calm. She is confused, and in her confusion, the name escapes her. She remembers the voice though. Allura remembers hearing this voice shrieking at a lost level on a video game, overshadowing the sound of the taunting ‘end game’ tune. She remembers that voice screeching like a mad bird when they’d ridden the ‘Deathcoaster’ at the new amusement park at the end of summer. She remembers- she_ remembers _\- this is Pidge. She opens her mouth to call back, but she chokes on the water that tries to rush down her lungs, and then she closes it, and tries to listen.__



 

 

_ “Allura? Allura hold on! I’m coming to help you!”                                          _

 

_ And then Allura realizes. The salt taste in her mouth is not a taste. It is the ocean enveloping her, pulling her and sampling her in expectation of her return to it’s waters; a return that will happen soon. She opens her eyes in spite of the sting, and tries to struggle, but she cannot move. She wants to move but she cannot, and the realization comes to her suddenly, and unsurprisingly: Allura is drowning, and she can do nothing without it.  _

  
  


The gentle beep of a heart monitor machine guides Allura back into consciousness. A heart monitor? Does that mean she’s in a hospital?

 

Allura opens her eyes, and tries to call out, but all that escapes her mouth is a wet, choked sound. Something is lodged in her throat, and for a moment, she flashes back to the water, when she’s thrashing in it, trying to escape it as it slips down her lungs and tries to kill her. The heart monitor beeps wildly as her heart races, and  _ she can’t feel it.  _

 

“Allura,” Pidge stands beside her bedside, her eyes red, her cheeks red, and her voice hoarse from crying. She slips her hand into Allura’s, and squeezes, and she only knows this because she can see it as it happens. “Allura, please, breathe. Calm down. You’re okay, I promise. You’re okay.”

 

Allura isn’t okay- she can’t move.  _ This is why she almost drowned.  _ She can’t move- but Pidge is there beside her, holding her hand, and looking for all the world like she hasn’t left her bedside in weeks, so Allura tries to listen, and forces herself to breathe until her heart rate goes down, and the monitor returns to it’s slow, measured beeping.

 

Pidge gives her a small smile, fragile one that looks like it might break if she holds it there too long, and presses the button on her bed control to call the nurse. “Now that you’re breathing on your own, they can take the intubation tube out, and then you can talk, okay? Oh, and your dad’s back at your house, sleeping. Do you want me to call him for you?”

 

Allura shakes her head. She loves her father, but from what she understands, this is a horrible injury, one that will probably take forever to recover from, and she’d prefer to hear it first on her own. 

 

“Okay. That’s fine.” Pidge looks behind her at the door and then shifts over so the nurse can get to Allura. 

 

The nurse pulls the tube from her throat, and then checks on the monitor. “Been a bit agitated, have we? S’alright. I think anyone would be.” She turns back to Allura and smiles passively, betraying nothing. “I know that you don’t feel well, and that you’ve likely got questions, and want to spend time with your girlfriend, but I need to run a few tests on you first, alright?”

 

“Okay.” Allura replies, her voice so hoarse as to barely be a whisper. 

 

“Good. Let’s start with the mental tests. What’s your name?”

 

“Allura Altea.” 

 

“Where do you go to school?”

 

“The Garrison.” 

 

The nurse glances at Pidge to check her answer, then nods and writes it down on her clipboard. 

 

“Do you remember what happened before you came here?” The nurse’s voice goes soft, and Pidge grabs Allura’s hand again. “Can you recall the accident at all?”

 

_ The salt and sand against her skin, the water inside of her, invading her.  _ “I was drowning.” Allura’s voice has lost some of it’s hoarseness, has regained some of its strength. “I was drowning, and I couldn’t move, and now I’m here.” She turns and looks at Pidge, who has started to cry. “What’s wrong with me?”

 

Pidge looks at the nurse as if to ask permission, and then sits down on the edge of her bed. She brushes a strand of Allura’s hair behind her ear, and not quite meeting her eyes, tells her. “We were at a beach party, and you wanted me to come swim with you. You dived in the water, and didn’t come back up. We thought it was fine. I thought it was fine. And then I saw you floating facedown, and you weren’t moving, and-” She takes a big shuddering breath. “They say you broke your neck at the C4 vertebrae. You’re spinal cord was crushed.”

 

Allura knows. How could she not know, when she can’t feel her hand being held, can’t feel the irritating stickiness of the leads monitoring her pulse, and blood pressure? Still, she wants to hear it said aloud. She can’t accept it if she doesn’t hear it. 

 

“What does that mean?”

 

Pidge finally meets her gaze, and her hazel eyes are puffy and wet. “They say you’re paralyzed. Paralyzed from the neck down. I’m sorry.”

 


	2. Doubts

Allura closes her eyes as Pidge reads, and tries to imagine her voice as the announcer’s while she’s in the middle of a game. 

 

“A break at the C4 vertebre is catastrophic, and usually results in complete paralysis below the neck.”

 

She’s chasing the ball across the field, wet grass flying up and sticking to her skin, dew wetting her socks and settling into the space between her toes. The sun shines down on her with it’s ful intensity, daring her to stop, daring her to fail.

 

“After the patient has been stabilized, tests are done to ascertain the depth of the damage. X-rays, pin-prick tests and MRI’s are just a few of the tests done to decipher the damage done.”

 

Allura can see the defence coming for her, so she takes a gamble, and kicks the ball to the left of the field, and into the path of her teammates. The defense changes tactics, and goes after the ball. If I can just make it thirty yards closer, I’ll be able to make that goal no problem, she thinks. But can she really run that far, that fast? If the opposing team figures out her tactics… Nevermind that. If she tries hard enough, she’ll find a way. She always does. 

 

“Afterwards, the patient is typically given opioids to reduce swelling, and if necessary, the damaged spinal cord segment is cut out. However, due to recent advancements in medical assistance devices, it is entirely possible for a quadriplegic to live a good, fulfilling life.”

 

Allura tries to imagine herself making that dash, getting that goal, but how is she supposed to do that when she can’t move, when she’s being told that she will never again be able to move?

 

“Stop. Stop staying that.”

 

“Allura,” Pidge sets her smartphone aside, and leans back beside her girlfriend. She has to be careful not to dislodge the leads when she touches Allura, lest the monitor go off and another crash cart be sent to her room, along with a contingent of annoyed nurses. Allura wishes that she could turn away from Pidge’s face, from the- the-  _ pity  _ that rests in her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to hide it, but she can’t all she can do is sit there, and listen. “Allura, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to upset you, I’m just- I’m just reading you the facts. So you can be informed, is all.”

 

“I know enough.” Allura asserts. “I know that if I try hard enough, the statistics don’t matter.” A strand of hair falls into her face and she struggles to brush it aside. 

 

Pidge watches her struggle for a moment, and then cautiously reaches over and wipes it away. “Allura, I- I believe in you. I believe that you can accomplish even the most improbable of things, because you’re just that determined, but I’m not sure if you can accomplish this.”

 

Allura turns her head to the side, and stares at the collection of cards and flowers on the bed stand. From where she lays, it just looks like a collection of colorful rectangles and squares. “Well, I will.”

 

“Allura.” Pidge says, her words half lost in a sigh. “Allura, please. I don’t want you to get your hopes up, because it’ll hurt that much more if it doesn’t work.”

 

“You kept believing when everyone said that your father was dead. And then he came back, and they all ate their words.” Allura says. She doesn’t turn to look, but she is sure that Pidge’s expression has softened, that her mouth has lost that sharp edge it always has when they argue. She feels a little bit guilty for bringing up her father, but it’s the truth, isn’t it? Pidge believed in the impossible, and the impossible happened. How can she tell Allura not to do the same?

 

Pidge kisses Allura’s temple, and then slides off the bed. “I’m going home for a little bit, okay? I’m going to… I’m going to talk to my dad about your injury, and I’ll- I’ll see what he thinks about this. Maybe he can get his hands on some new research or something.”

 

Allura finally turns over again. “Really?”

 

“Really. I’ll try. I’ll try for you, okay?”

 

“That’s all I can ask of you.” 

 

Pidge nods, and kisses her one more time before slipping out into the hallway, and finally out of sight.

 

_ Allura watches as Pidge peers into the water, eyes narrowed as if she were worried it might be playing a trick on her. _

 

_ “The water is fine, Pidge! Come on!” She waves at her, beckoning her to join her where the water splashes up to her knees. The sun beats down on them pleasantly, half-hidden behind a puffy, white cloud shaped like a tree. Music plays from one of the many speakers dragged out into the sand by their classmates, playing one of summer’s top 40 tracks at top volume. The scene feels unreal in how picturesque it is. “Please?” _

 

_ Pidge sighs, and joins her at knee depth. She shivers at the cold, and then glares as Allura splashes her, soaking her t-shirt. “Hey.” She says, indignant.  _

 

_ “Hey, yourself.” Allura says, raising an eyebrow in challenge. She backs up in the water, just out of reach, and pauses as it reaches her waist. The waves behind her push against her bare back, but she doesn’t mind the cold. She doesn’t mind at all. “Are you coming?” _

 

_ “If you had to choose between a slow, gentle death, or a fast, violent one, which would you choose?” _

 

_ Allura blinks. The water, once so welcoming in it’s coolness, feels unfriendly and cold. “What did you say?” _

 

_ Pidge’s glasses catch the light, hiding her eyes behind panes of white glass. Her mouth is set into a sad, gentle smile. “If you had to choose between a slow, gentle death, or a fast violent one, which would you chose?” _

 

_ “Why are you asking me that?” _

 

_ Pidge shakes her head and waits. The music is gone. The waves are gone. _

 

_ “What’s going on? Why are you looking at me like that?” Panic starts to creep into Allura’s voice, and her heart beats wildly, like a beast locked within a cage. “Stop it!” _

 

_ Pidge shakes her head again, and again and doesn’t stop, even as her glasses slip off her face and into the water, lost beneath the foam of the waves.  _

 

_ “Stop it, stop it, stop it!” _

  
  


“Hey, Allura?” Hunk knocks on the door to her room, jolting her into consciousness. She tries to sit up further, but doesn’t. Her body just lies there like a rock. “We were going to call ahead, but Pidge said she was at home, so…” He holds up his hands, and shakes them. “Surprise!”

 

Allura is still shaken by her nightmare, by the sudden silence, and the seriousness with which Pidge had asked her,  _ Slow death, or fast one _ ? But she manages to put a smile on her face nonetheless. She can learn to move again. This tragedy is only temporary.

 

“Hello, Hunk. I’m so glad to see you.”

 

Hunk beams, and pats her head affectionately. “I brought you some cookies, your favorites, and some peanut butter cookies for Pidge too, but the nurse said you couldn’t eat yours until the doctor signed off on letting you eat solids again.”

 

“Oh, it’s the thought that counts.” She says, brightly. 

 

Behind him, an oversize teddy bear is stuck in the doorway. “Hi, Princess.” It says, staring at her with oversized button eyes. Lance crawls from underneath it, and starts to pull on one of its arms. “Was Pidge playing in your hair again?”

 

Allura laughs. “How could you tell?”

 

“The uneven plaits? The half-finished braids? The tangles, lovingly created, which I can see from across the room?” Lance waves half-heartedly. “Don’t worry. I can fix it.”

 

It’s true that Pidge isn’t good at dealing with long hair, but Allura hadn’t had the heart to ask her to stop, or to do a simpler style. That was the only touch that she’s been able to feel since she’d woken up, and she hadn’t wanted it to stop. 

 

“Think you got one big enough?” Keith asks as he drags himself under the bear, and starts to tug on it’s other arm. Hunk watches the two of them struggle amusedly from the chair beside her bed. 

 

“Hey,” Lance protests. “There is nothing better for recovery than something to cuddle with.”

 

“Doesn’t she have Pidge for that?” Keith retorts.

 

“I do,” Allura says, a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth despite her complicated mood. “But the bear is nice too.”

 

The bear finally comes through, falling atop both Keith and Lance. Keith sighs sullenly, as Lance lifts it up and places the bear beside Allura’s bed. 

 

“So,” Lance says, as he starts to unbraid her hair. “What’d the doctors say? How much physical therapy are you gonna have to do before you’re back on your feet?”

 

“Uh,” What is she supposed to say? That the doctors say that she’ll never recover, but she’s gonna do it anyways? Her friends would never say it to her face, but they wouldn’t believe her. They would smile, and say they support her, but they would all think otherwise, and Allura isn’t sure if she could handle that.  _ And why is that? Is that because you know they’re right?  _

 

“Have you guys told Allura about Shiro’s new arm?” Pidge says as she steps inside the room, her hair still wet, t-shirt sticking to her damp skin. “I heard that this one is even more intuitive than the last one.”

 

Hunk starts to explain it animatedly, and the moment passes. Allura smiles for her friends, and listens and talks, and Pidge watches her all the while with an expression on her face that she can’t decipher.

 


	3. Depression and lower heights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait. I just got a new job, and with school and everything, I've been a bit busy. Enjoy, and please remember to read and review.

Allura deals with another one of Pidge’s looks every time she is rolled down the hall to the physical therapy center. Non-patients aren’t allowed inside, but her gaze lingers in Allura’s head nonetheless as the nurses write notes on her (lack of) progress, and her (non existent) physical changes. The most that Allura has accomplished is the ability to move her head and neck without pain, and to lift her head from the back of her chair for a few seconds at a time. 

 

She counts the days as they pass her by the few moments of excitement that break up the monotony.

 

Day 16, Keith and Shiro come to visit. Keith sits in the corner and talks to Pidge, whose eyes are darkened from a lack of sleep and overconsumption of coffee while Shiro sits on the edge of her bed, new prosthetic clenching every few moments. 

 

“Why do you keep doing that?” She asks as their conversation comes to a lull. “With your hand.”

 

Shiro looks down at it, as if surprised to find it there. His hair seems a little overdue for a haircut, and hangs into his eyes. Allura feels the urge to brush it away, but no matter how hard she tells her arm to get up and move, it does not listen. 

 

“I can pick things up and feel weight and texture to an extent, but when my hand is just sitting there, it feels like I don’t have it.”

 

“So you keep moving, so you can feel it?”

 

He nods, and rests his hand in his lap. The smooth metal surface glints dimly under the fluorescent lights. “Right. It helps.” He turns to look at Keith, a small smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “Among other things.” 

 

Keith stands suddenly, hand around Pidge’s wrist. She looks to be mid-protest, only she’s so tired, she’s only half-heartedly trying. “It was nice seeing you Allura, but I think we should take Pidge home.”

 

“Um,” Allura swears that Keith’s infamous glare is directed at her, as if it’s her fault that Pidge is unable to sleep, that her accident has messed everything up so much. “Okay. I suppose I'll be fine on my own.” Her voice shakes a little at the thought. She hasn’t been left alone often since the accident, but that’s only contributed to her fears that something will happen if she’s by herself and no one is there to witness her. 

 

Pidge’s eyes widen, and she pulls her arm free from his grip. “I’ll stay. My mom is bringing me a new outfit later, and I’ll get some rest then. I promise.” Her eyes are directed at Keith, pointed like they’re aimed at him, at some sense of camaraderie they both share.

 

Keith studies her for a moment more and then nods. “Okay. Bye.” 

 

He leaves, not waiting for Shiro to follow behind him despite Shiro having the keys.

 

“Is it something I did?” Allura asks. 

 

Shiro shrugs. “He can be touchy sometimes. It’s fine.” He waves as he heads out the door. “Goodbye.”

 

“Goodbye.” Allura says back.

 

Pidge looks at her from the safety of her chair, her buttprint molded into the vinyl cover as if she’s waiting for Allura to say something. Allura turns away and looks back to the tv. Another sitcom is on. It’s not funny, but she watches it anyways, and does her best to ignore The Look her girlfriend is giving her.

 

On Day 22, Pidge goes home, and doesn’t come back for nearly twelve hours. Allura is left alone with her paralysis and the nurses and sitcoms that just remind her of how depressing her life is until she comes back, five minutes before visitors have to close. She brings with her Allura’s phone, fully charged, and a soft blanket that drags on the floor as she carries it. 

 

“There’s a monster movie marathon on tonight. Do you wanna watch it?”

 

Allura turns her head to the side. “No.”

 

Pidge sets the phone down on the bedside table, amongst the mess of get well cards, and vases of dying flowers. “Well, uh, I guess we can try to look for one of those cop shows instead-”

 

“I don’t want to watch tv with you.” Allura says, her voice even. She closes her eyes and imagines herself standing up, arms crossed in that way of hers that makes even adults get antsy. She opens her eyes, and her gaze locks on her phone. “Just- just give me my phone.”

 

Pidge doesn’t bark back at her sharp tone like she normally would, doesn’t retort with that sharp tongue she is so used to. She merely picks up the phone, and says, “What do you want to do with it?”

 

“Soccer videos. Last season.”

 

Pidge sets it up and props a pillow behind it so that Allura can watch without having Pidge to hold it. She sits back in her chair wordlessly, and picks up her phone. Allura tries to focus on her games, but she can feel her eyes on her, can feel the pity in their hazel iris’. 

 

Finally, she looks up. “What? What is it?”

 

Pidge shakes her head, messy, matted hair falling in her eyes. “Nothing.”

 

“No,” Allura says, voice rising. “It’s something. You’ve been giving me that look since I woke up, so just tell me what it is!”

 

Pidge is quiet. She sighs and seems to slump into the chair as if it is swallowing her. “It’s not the end of the world.” She says, and with her admission, seems to relax even more.

 

“Oh really?”Allura says, voice high and sharp with anger. “I suppose I’ll play goalie on the soccer field now. I’ll block the ball with my massive wheelchair and the power of ableist guilt.”

 

Pidge sighs, and moves the plate of jello from Allura’s tray to the table closer to her. She pokes at it. “You could try other things, and you’ve still got student council. I know it’s bad. I’m not saying that it’s not, but it’s- it’s better than you being dead, Allura.”

 

Allura looks down at her phone and watches as her younger self propells the ball to the goal and scores. She and her teammates jump up and down with excitement. Her voice is soft as she asks, “Is it?”

 

Pidge sets the fork down, and pushes the jello away, untouched. “You don’t mean that.” she says, her voice low and dangerous.

 

Allura turns her head away. Her body lies limp and immobile on the bed. “Maybe I do. Pidge, have you considered what my life will be like now? I can’t move. If we ever break up, no one will want to date me. Living alone will be impossible.  _ Everything _ will have to change.”

 

Pidge is quiet. A nurse ducks her head in to check on them, and then leaves. 

 

“Does this mean you’ve accepted it?”

 

“Accepted that no matter what I do, my spinal cord won’t regenerate?” Allura snorts. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

 

Pidge stands and cups her cheek until Allura gives in and leans her head into it. “Things are going to change. I can’t deny that. But I promise, I’m not going to leave your side. I’m going to stay with you through all of this, and you’ll do it. You’ll survive.”

 

Allura’s vision grows blurry with tears she can’t wipe away. “Do you promise?”

 

“I do.”

  
  
  


It takes another two weeks before the doctors decide that Allura is well enough to leave the hospital, and so, in the middle of June, on Day 36, when she would normally be at a soccer camp somewhere, she finally returns home. 

 

“I can stay with you, you know.” Pidge says as she pushes the chair over the threshold and into Allura’s apartment. The room is cold and dusty from disuse. She considers briefly calling her father and asking if she might stay at his place, but it’s likely no better than her own, with all of the traveling he does. Pidge pushes her into the center of the living room in front of the tv. “Until you get settled in, and,” Her voice goes soft, like she’s afraid Allura might blow up at her for saying it. “Your nurse gets here.”

 

Allura frowns. She hadn’t meant to be so rude to Pidge that she expects it at every mention of hardship. Has she really been that bad? 

 

“Pidge, I-” Allura swallows, and shakes her head. “I’m sorry I’ve been so mean to you. You didn’t deserve any of that.”

 

“You’re going through something hard, Allura. I didn’t expect you to stay happy and optimistic throughout everything.” Pidge picks up the remote and settles in on the couch beside her, she picks up Allura’s limp hand and holds it, just like the in old days when they would spend a Saturday watching bad sci-fi movies together, and eating pizza. “But thanks. I appreciate it. Now, there’s a zombie marathon on that I’ve been dying to watch. Care to join me?”

 

Allura pretends to hesitate. “Well, I suppose I can clear my calendar, if there’ll be pizza.”

 

“Triple cheese?”

 

“What else?”

 

Pidge moves Allura’s wheelchair to the side of the loveseat, and puts on a cheesy horror film, and for a moment, it feels like before, like nothing has changed at all.

  
  


That night, she stares at her ceiling until three a.m., her eyelids heavy with the need for sleep. Pidge’s quiet snores fill the room, and she imagines that she can feel her heat beside her, though she knows that is impossible. Allura can feel the nightmares lingering just beyond the surface of her conscious. If she closes her eyes and succumbs to sleep, she knows that they’ll bubble up and drag her back down into the depths of her personal hell.

 

Normally, if she was feeling insomniac, she’d go get a cup of tea and a nice book and read until she fell asleep, the narrative of her novel still on her mind, but quite obviously, that is not an option. She could wake Pidge and ask her to get a cup for her, but this is the first time that she’s slept in a bed since the accident, and Allura doesn’t want to disturb her. 

 

She sighs. 

 

What is she supposed to do with herself now? So many of her dreams had hinged on her being mobile and active; she had never considered a future where she wasn’t. Soccer is gone. Swimming is gone. The beach is probably ruined for her forever. She can’t take up art, or create things. Everything that could have been is suddenly gone, and Allura has no idea how to deal with that kind of loss.

 

When was the last time she’d dealt with a big loss? 

 

She thinks on it for a moment, but even with her brain sleep addled and lethargic, it comes to mind quickly: Her mother leaving.

 

She’d been young when she’d left, very young, and now she can barely remember the face of the woman who birthed her. When Allura thinks back on her, all she can conjure is a blurred face and light hair, and a soft voice. One day she had been there, and the next, it had been just Allura and her father. That day had marked a change in Allura’s life. Her father had tried his best, but as he’d suffered a second betrayal by his best friend, he’d pulled away from Allura, had become distant. Allura can’t pinpoint when exactly, but sometime after that, she’d started acting out. It’d been small, petty things, like starting arguments and having tantrums, but had eventually led to her being enrolled in soccer, one of her favorite past times.

 

Her troubles had faded away at some point between then and now, so subtle that she hadn’t noticed. The kind of trouble she has now is not one that will leave her. It’s something she’ll have to learn to deal with; but can she?

  
  
  
  
  
  



	4. Uplift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry for the long-ish wait, but I've had a lot of trouble at home, and I am trying my best, and I hope you guys enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it. Please remember to read and review!

 

**Chapter 4:**

 

“Today is the first day of the rest of my life, and it will be a good day.” Allura says firmly. 

 

Her reflection doesn’t look as convinced as she had hoped, but maybe that’s because of her hair, tangled so badly that it resembles a bird’s nest more than anything else. Her eyes are dark and clouded with sleeplessness, and her body- well, there’s nothing much to say about it. Sitting in the tub in a plastic chair, all she can really see in the mirror is her head. 

 

“Okay,” Pidge says, opening the bathroom door. She holds a large towel in one hand, and a bath caddy in the other. “I think this is everything.”

 

She sets it down on the tiled floor, and sits on the edge of the tub. Pidge’s glasses hang low on the bridge of her nose, and Allura struggles with the impulse to push them back, knowing full well that she can’t. She smiles anyways as her girlfriend leans over her lap and turns on the faucet, a faint blush darkening her freckled cheekbones.

 

“What,” Allura teases. “Are you embarrassed by a little nudity? I don’t recall you blushing this badly when you walked in on Keith-”

 

Pidge turns on the showerhead and a burst of cold water hits the top of Allura’s head. She sputters and shakes the water from her eyes to find Pidge grinning mischievously. “Oops.”

 

“Sure.” Allura rolls her eyes. “‘Oops’.” 

 

Pidge adjusts the shower head so that it hits the back of her head rather than the top. Allura basks in the feeling of the warm water rolling down her hair to the back of her neck before disappearing into the nothingness that is the rest of her body. At this point, it no longer shocks or surprises her. It just is, like how Keith can’t tell the difference between red and blue, or how Hunk is always wearing his headband. One day, she knows that the concept of movement and sensation below her neck will be faded and gone, and that the memory itself will be too blurred to compare her current condition to. But for now, it’s simply not there, and the realization that it is not no longer scares her. 

 

Pidge grabs the hairbrush and starts to comb through her hair, scalp to tangled ends. It gets caught in the tangles and knots, and more than once, Pidge has to stop and detangle it by hand. When she deems it good enough, she squeezes a handful of conditioner onto her scalp, and starts to rub it in. Allura closes her eyes and focuses on the warmth of the shower, the tug of the brush, the gentle inhale and exhale of her girlfriend as she sets it down and starts to rinse the conditioner out. 

 

The morning is peaceful, serene. Allura had woken up to the sound of Pidge’s sleeptalking; something or other about a ninety-eight on a test rather than a one hundred. She hadn’t wanted to wake her up, so she’d spent another half an hour or so just studying her face, and listening to her argue with her dream-Mr. Iverson. Pidge had woken up some time later, and then offered to give her a bath. Allura had been too prideful to ask anyone, even at the hospital; there, she had simply waited for the nurse to suggest one. She’d supposed she had better get used to it. It’s not like her girlfriend is a mind reader, and it’s bound to be even worse with a care assistant, if it comes to that. And so she’d asked, and Pidge had smiled like she was proud, and with a strength that she hadn’t guessed a girl her height possessed, hefted her into the bathtub. Or rather, the bathing chair, recently delivered while she was hospitalized. Pidge had undressed her, managing to hide her blush behind her fluffy hair, and then disappeared back into the bedroom for what had to be a solid ten minutes. 

 

The morning had been peaceful and serene, and now Allura is afraid that by asking after that absence, it won’t be. Still, it’ll be on her mind all day if she doesn’t. 

 

“What took you so long to come back?” Allura finally asks. The words feel like they catch in her throat, but they come out quiet and even, inquisitive, not angry. It’s just a question, nothing more. “After you helped me into the shower, I mean.”

 

Pidge pauses in her rinsing. Allura opens her eyes. “I had a phone call with Hunk. He’d emailed some things to me and I hadn’t responded to them yet. You know how pushy he can be.”

 

“Hmm.” Allura hums.

 

Pidge wets the washcloth and adjusts the chair so that the water hits her square in the back. She keeps her eyes on Allura’s face as she washes. “He’d looked into some things for you. Ramps and wheelchairs and stuff. I was going to bring them up to you after breakfast. Okay?”

 

“Okay.” Allura can’t feel the water any more, the wetness or the warmth. 

 

“Okay.” Pidge says again, and turns the water off.

  
  
  


Breakfast is a strawberry milkshake with a real strawberry set on the rim. Pidge places the cup and straw- a curly straw from a trip to an ice cream parlor some time ago- in reach on her mouth, and then sets to pulling up that email on her computer. 

 

“You should eat,” Allura says between mouthfuls. “You’re too thin.”

 

“You sound like my grandma.” Pidge replies without looking up from the screen. “And I’ll eat when I’m done.”

 

Allura finishes the milkshake off just as Pidge sets the computer down in front of her. “You can use this to move the page.” She says, holding an unsharpened pencil between two fingers. “You can bite down on the wooden end, and use it to push the arrow buttons.”

 

“Really?” Allura had figured there’d be a more sophisticated way of using the computer. Surely someone had had the need before. 

 

Pidge shrugs. “It’s all I can think of at the moment, and well, you wanted me to eat.”

 

Allura’s cheeks flush, and she is glad that her skin is dark enough to hide it. She’s been so rude lately; she outta have realized that setting her up on her own would let Pidge finally take care of herself. 

 

“Alright.” She says, and opens her mouth. Pidge sets it between her teeth, waits for Allura to clamp down. She pauses, adjusts the distance between her and the computer, and then steps into the kitchen. 

 

“Just yell if you need me.” Pidge says as she pours herself a bowl of cereal.

  
  
  


The computer screen is set to a blog called ‘Diary of a quadriplegic’. The page is sparsely decorated, and professional in it’s design, which she appreciates. At the top of the page is the title:  **Tools and tricks of the trade.**

 

Below that is a list of items that the author recommends. 

 

_ Sip and puff wheelchair: _

This wheelchair uses a form of assistive technology  that sends signals to a device using air pressure  by "sipping" (inhaling) or "puffing" (exhaling) on a straw, tube or "wand." It’s been very helpful in allowing me to regain my sense of independence. I can get around my apartment with ease, and it was very easy to learn how to use.

 

_ -Computer input device: _

This device is basically a mouth controlled joystick. It’s an integral part of how I interact     with the internet (and this blog, folks!)

 

Allura stops there. She’d had no idea that something like that even existed! With one of those, she could at the very least go outside for fresh air when she felt like it and-

 

The pencil clatters to the floor. Allura watches as it rolls to Pidge’s feet, who gazes down at it from over the edge of her bowl of fruit loops. 

 

“Excited, are we?” 

 

Allura grins, and doesn’t even mind Pidge’s teasing tone. For the first time since the accident, she has hope; life will go on, as long she lets it. “Yes. Yes, I am.”


	5. Looking up

Anticipation is worse than anything else in the world, Allura thinks as she stares at the order confirmation page. Currently, her wheelchair is being transported to the mail center to be sorted and sent off on the first leg of it’s journey. At the top of the page, it warns her that due to the size of her package, it will likely be at least three weeks before it gets to her. If she could feel her stomach, she bets that it would be rolling with anxiety and restlessness; but since she cannot, she merely has the weight of her mind to deal with. 

 

The laptop slams closed.

 

“Hey!” Allura protests, but Pidge has already moved it back and away from her limited reach. “Put it back.”

 

“You’ve been staring at that screen all day.” Pidge says, as she slides on a pair of sandals, and slings a tote bag over her shoulders. “And it hasn’t made the package move any faster, has it?”

 

“I- but it-”

 

“It hasn’t.” Pidge confirms. She unlocks the wheels on Allura’s plain, not self-propelled wheelchair, and pushes her towards the door. “And besides, it’s time for your physical therapy. After that, Hunk and Lance invited us out to that little strip mall you like for lunch.”

 

Allura wishes she could complain, but she is aware of the logic in Pidge’s words, and understands that complaining really won’t change a thing. Her chair is not here, and she has somewhere to go. 

 

She sighs. “Fine. Milkshakes after?”

 

“Of course.” Pidge replies automatically. The milkshake place in that ‘little strip mall’ is one of their favorite places for date night, or at least,  _ was _ one of their favorites. Allura’s been missing the taste of their Strawberry shake ever since she’d been released for the hospital. “But therapy is first.”

  
  


Pidge waits outside of the physical therapy center sitting on the hood of the car. She holds a book in one hand, and flips through it lazily, occasionally looking up to wave at Allura through the tinted glass. Allura finds watching her girlfriend to be much more interesting than paying attention to the trainer currently moving her legs. It’s been a while since she’s taken a moment to actually appreciate her. Allura supposes that it’s because of the summer’s recent hardships. For a while, it was hard to focus on anything other than her injuries, but in retrospect, it seems like she’s been missing out on the only good thing about this: her girlfriend and her support. 

 

Without her, it would have been much harder to get past the depression, and to look forward to life again. If she had had a less debilitating injury, thinking of a way to show her thankfulness, how much she cares and appreciates her wouldn’t be so hard; but as it is, she can’t really think of anything. 

 

The physical trainer finishes up, and smiles at her. “Okay. We’re done for the day. I’ll take you to the back to clean you up, and then I’ll call your girlfriend in. Should I schedule your next appointment for next Saturday?”

 

Allura watches as Pidge tucks a lock of hair behind her ear, her eyebrows scrunched together in concentration. “No, I think I’ll be busy that day.”

  
  


Pidge comments idly on the passerby as they approach the little milkshake store, and find a seat at the table outside. An umbrella keeps the worst of the heat off of them as they wait for Hunk, Keith and Lance to come back with their milkshakes.

 

“You've been pretty quiet today.” Pidge says. “Are you okay?”

 

“I'm fine.” Allura says. It's not until the words leave her mouth that she realizes that she means it. She doesn't feel sadly nostalgic, or depressed or cranky. She feels… fine. “I was just thinking-”

 

“Not about the wheelchair again?”

 

“No, actually. I was thinking about next year. School specifically.” 

 

Allura wasn't thinking about that just then, but it's true that she has been thinking about it. Most of her classmates know what happened because of social media or word of mouth, but that's an entirely different thing than seeing her in person. She's making the best of it, and with the support of her friends (and especially her girlfriend), she's been adjusting to her new reality. They don't look at her like she's something to be pitied. Pidge still understands that she is the same person that she was before. Will her classmates treat her the same way?

 

“It'll be fine. We'll probably have a few classes, or at least lunch together, and the school will help you the best they can.” Pidge says soothingly. She holds Allura's hand, more out of habit than anything else. 

 

Allura shakes her head. “That's not what I'm worried about. It's everyone else. I'm so… different now. They're going to treat me different. They'll look at me funny.”

 

“Well, yeah.” Allura starts as Lance appears beside her, balancing a tray of milkshakes in one hand, and fries in the other. He sets them down on the table, and lounges in the metal seat. “People haven't seen you in a while, but they've heard plenty about you. They're going to be curious.” Lance leans in, a fry held between his teeth like a cigarette. “Because they care. It's not pity. It's compassion.”

 

Allura stares at him dubiously. Keith and Hunk take their seats beside him. “How can you be sure?”

 

“Did you pity Shiro when he lost his arm?” Lance asks, confident in his conclusion.

 

“No. Of course not. I was worried for him.”

 

“Exactly.” Lance tilts back one of the containers to read the label. “Now, who ordered a rocky road?”

  
  
  


By the time Pidge and Allura arrive at home, it's late afternoon. The sun rests heavy in the sky, staining everything with hues of red and orange. Pidge unlocks Allura's apartment door with one hand, and shoves the door open before rushing Allura inside. 

 

“Your caretaker is coming by later today. Do you want me to stay with you until then?” 

 

“Only if you want to.” Allura says. Pidge has been spending so much time with her lately; she worries that she's running herself thin.

 

“Of course I do.” Pidge answers with a smile. Even so, Allura can see the tiredness in her eyes. If she tells her to go on home, she'll take it the wrong way. Allura hums.

 

“Okay. You want to watch a movie?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Allura stays quiet as Pidge picks out a movie and snuggles up on the couch. Within minutes, she's falling asleep.

 

Pidge is younger than her, and has gone through so much already; her father and brother's disappearance and eventual return, and now all of this with her girlfriend. She's so much stronger than she has to be, and Allura doesn't know how to thank her for it when she can't even move around her own apartment. 

 

The best she can do is try to plan it out, and hope that someone else can help her make this date go wonderfully for Pidge.

  
  
  
  
  



End file.
